100 Themes Challenge
by spookisapuppy
Summary: Does Crowley dye his hair? Does Halt need to take a nap? Who dies? Find the answers and more inside. :P
1. Chapter 1

_ So, I've decided to finally do the 100 themes challenge. I've been meaning to for a while, but I haven't ever gotten around to it. But I have time now. And, since Rydd Rider is using the list from my profile I decided to make a new one. I'll put that up on my profile too. Oh, and the numbers are the number on the list, just so you know. I'm really not sure about these, so tell me what you think._

* * *

27. Gray

"Halt, is that a gray hair I see?"

"What?" Halt's hand flew up to his head, combing through his messy hair in a nervous reaction. Crowley nodded, a little smile on his face. He took his friend by the elbow and led him to a small mirror hanging on the wall. Halt studied his reflection worriedly.

His shoulders slumped when he too saw the gray hair. He brushed a hand across it, as if hoping that this was some kind of trick. But of course, it wasn't. And then, upon closer inspection, he realized that the one gray hair had a few brothers. And then he turned to glare accusingly at Crowley. "This is your fault," he said.

Crowley was still smiling, but had the good grace to act a little taken aback. "My fault? How?"

"You made me get an apprentice. And he's the cause of this."

"Really, Halt? You're almost forty years old. I think it's age, not Gilan, that causes gray hairs."

"That's what you think. You don't _have_ an apprentice."

"No, but I do have to look after fifty Rangers and all of _their_ apprentices. That's not exactly easy, you know."

Halt grumbled something in reply. He'd never actually thought that Crowley might find something to worry about as the head of the Corps. Then an idea struck him. He studied his friend intently. "Crowley?" he ventured.

"Yes?"

"You dye your hair. Admit it."

* * *

2. Angel

Halt stared up at the nightmarish creatures closing in on him. He wanted so badly to fight, or run, or close his eyes. But he could do none of those. His weapons were gone. He had thrown all of his knives. His bow lay beside him, smashed in two. Not that it mattered much now; all of his arrows had been spent. He couldn't run, one of the Wargals had swiped at his leg, leaving a deep gash that prevented his standing at all.

And he refused to close his eyes. He was going to die, he knew that now. Looking at the cold, dead eyes of the Wargal in front of him, Halt knew that the creature would not even hesitate in killing him. But Halt planned to die with his eyes open, a last sign of defiance. They might kill him, but they wouldn't break him.

The Wargal was close now, so close. As the bear like monster leaned nearer, coming in for the killing blow, time seemed to slow. _I'm only twenty-eight_, he thought. Why was his life ending so soon? Halt watched as the Wargal's blade descended, the adrenaline pumping through his system causing every excruciating detail to come through sharp and clear. Halt took a deep breath and sent up a prayer to whatever god might be listening.

And then the angel appeared. The man was small, armed only with a spear. He was covered in the dirt and grime of battle. There was blood on his tunic. His brown hair was wild. He fought with a vengeance that Halt had never seen before.

He took out several of the Wargals with quick jabs of the spear. The other monsters were undeterred, and quickly went on the attack, ignoring the injured Ranger for now. A blade found its way into the man's side, slicing his stomach with ease. Halt cried out in shock, trying desperately to scramble to his feet and aid the man. But the man didn't even react, he just continued to fight. A Wargal blade whistled through the air, neatly slicing the head off the spear.

The man didn't hesitate for a moment before changing his grip on the spear, holding it like a quarter staff. He flicked it forward, left, right, taking down another two Wargals in the process. He continued, his progress growing steadily faster, until something astonishing happened.

Halt watched in amazement as the Wargals turned tail and ran. They simply _ran_. And then his gaze was drawn back to the man who had saved his life, the man who could make Wargals run in fear. The man had dropped to one knee beside Halt, still trying to protect the Ranger. Halt looked at the blood dripping from dozens of wounds on the man's body. At the dark red seeping through the cloth of his tunic. And then the man fell. Halt felt a pang in his chest. The angel was dying.

* * *

28. Child

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Halt," he snapped. The little girl remained unfazed, however.

"My name is Jenny," she said cheerfully. She looked up at Halt, obviously waiting for a reply. When she received none, her expression darkened a bit. She craned her head back to stare up at Halt's face, her brow furrowing as she studied him. "Maybe you should take a nap," she said seriously.

Halt felt his eyes slide down to look at the little girl beside him. "And why would I do that?"

"Well," Jenny said, "When I'm grumpy Mama says to take a nap and then, when I wake up I'm not grumpy anymore. So maybe you should take a nap too."

Halt blinked. Did a four-year-old really just tell him to take a nap because he was grumpy? He pinched himself. Nope, this wasn't a dream. He stopped and looked down at the sunny little girl.

"So you think I'm grumpy?" She smiled and nodded vigorously. Halt sighed. "Well at least you're honest." Jenny beamed up at the Ranger. "Stop that," Halt said, annoyed at the smile. Jenny dropped the grin, but Halt could see the corners of her mouth twitching, just waiting for any invitation to smile once more. He shook his head, then reached down and took her hand.

"Let's see if we can find you mother, shall we?"

"Okay!" Jenny bounced happily beside Halt as the Ranger strode away. As he walked, Halt found himself glancing down occasionally at the little girl. She was only four, but Halt could tell that she had a completely indomitable spirit. Nothing could dampen that bright personality.

But even as he was admiring the little girl, Halt couldn't help but wonder how he was supposed to uphold his fearsome reputation while holding the hand of a child.

* * *

61. Too Big

Everything was too big. The bookshelves, the beds, the fireplace, the counters, the table, the dogs. The ceilings were too high, the rooms too open. There were too many people, and they were all too tall. And she was so small.

She walked through the too big room, feeling too alone. She was looking for someone, but he was hiding somewhere in this too big castle, probably behind a pair of too big doors. She was forced to dodge countless pairs of too big feet, belonging to the giants who towered above her. There were too many doors in this too long hall, and it would take too much time to look in them all. Just as she was feeling too tired and too useless to continue her search, one of the too big doors opened. And out stepped a friendly looking sort of giant, surrounded by several too frightening giants.

So she stayed just where she was and watched the friendly sort of giant speaking to the frightening sort of giants, probably about things that she was too young to understand. She watched, feeling far too impatient, and waited for far too long for the friendly sort of giant to finish his conversation. Except then, in the middle of a sentence, the friendly sort of giant noticed the too small girl standing alone in the too long hall.

A smile too big for his kindly face broke out across his cheeks, and the friendly sort of giant knelt down, forgetting what he had been saying not too long ago.

Cassandra ran into her father's arms, the one place she was certain she would fit.

* * *

48. Hero

How could you do this? To all of us, to _him_? To me?

Who told you to go off and be the hero? Who told you that it was a noble thing? To save the life of one you love? When did you decide that you would stay behind? When did you realize that, in order to protect them, you would have to die? Were you scared? Did you wonder what would happen to you?

Did you wonder what would happen to _us_? Did you know how badly it would hurt? This loss we're feeling? Did you think of that before you saved their life? Did you think of me? Even for a moment?

Did you wonder what would happen to the lives of those you left behind? If-without you- we would still find them worth living?

* * *

_Well, that was interesting. To me, at least. So, what did you think? Any ideas/requests? Or criticism? Please people, I like opinions. So you should review. Peace. :P_


	2. Chapter 2

*_Sigh and overly dramatic fall into spinny chair* Well, it's done. I wrote a four page anatomy paper, a five paragraph essay for English, Humanities, and U.S. History, wrote a Spanish paper, read four chapters of a book for homework, did a pre calc test, and memorized all of the bones in the skull. As a result, I now know more about brain cancer, economic exploitation, and the Civil War than I ever wanted to. I also have free time now. So that means all of my stories will be getting updated soon. Hopefully sometime during the weekend or sooner. _

_ Also, to anyone who is interested in, has written a chapter of, or would like to write a chapter of the story "Campfire", I have news. I started a forum about the story. It's under the RA forums, and it's creatively called "Spookisapuppy's Campfire Story". I would put a link, but it won't let me. _

_I figured we can get some new authors, discuss the story, and help out any authors that are stuck for ideas for their chapter. Thanks to Arlothia for the great idea. Oh, and we kind of ran out of authors for that story, so anyone want to volunteer? If you do, PM me, tell me in a review, or tell me on the forum. Sorry for the super long author's note, I'm done now. Enjoy.:P_

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65. Grow

When had this happened? Halt tilted his head back to look at the boy in front of him. His features were the same, deep brown eyes with a spark of mischief, a tangled mess of brown hair. The same lopsided grin and easygoing nature.

But some things had changed. Halt found himself having to look up a bit to see his face. The slightest hint of scruff could be seen around his jaw. His hands were callused and his handshake was firm. He carried himself with confidence and grace. He moved silently and could shoot a bow with deadly accuracy.

And Halt wondered how he'd never noticed that the skinny little teenager he'd taken in six years ago had grown up into a man.

* * *

79. Empty

Halt took one last look around his cabin. The wooden furniture, the flowers slowly wilting in a vase. It was perfectly clean, perfectly ordered, and set up exactly the way Halt liked it. He had lived in this house for over fifteen years, he'd had a lot of time to perfect it.

For a lot of those fifteen years, he'd lived alone. He'd fought bandits, sent and received secret messages, cooked countless dinners, carried buckets of water every day, shot thousands of arrows, fought in and helped to end wars, and trained an apprentice. He and this cabin, they'd been through a lot together. It had been his base of operations, and his home. And so, this feeling he had, it seemed out of place.

How could a place so full of memories feel so empty?

Halt shook his head. He stepped outside and closed the door. It was an oddly final sound, a last goodbye from the home that had served him so well. As he hopped down the stairs he craned his neck to look back once more. No, something was definitely different. But it was no matter, he thought, shaking his head in frustration. Once he got Will back, the house would be full again.

* * *

89. It's Broken

Will stood by the freshly covered patch of dirt. The others had left a long time ago, to find comfort in each other's company. But Will had felt the need to be alone. He'd stood here, rooted to the spot, staring down, for well over two hours. Thoughts swirled around his head as he tried to make sense of the ground in front of him. This patch of earth that had been made into a grave.

Suddenly, he felt a tugging on his hand. He looked down to see a little girl of about five or six. Her mother was calling out to her, and running to retrieve her, but hesitated when she saw the Ranger. The small girl studied Will with an intensity that was almost disturbing. Finally, she spoke.

"What's wrong? Does something hurt?"

Will felt his throat thicken with tears. "Yes," he said.

"What is it?"

Will knelt down in front of her, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "It's my heart," he said.

The little girl's mouth turned to a circle of concern. "What happened?" she asked, placing a tiny hand on his chest.

A tear fell down Will's cheek, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. "It's broken."

* * *

51. Second Best

Horace had seen the way Cassandra felt about Will. The way her eyes followed him around a room. How her face softened a bit when she saw him. He knew that the princess had loved Will, maybe still did love Will, at least a little. But Will didn't love her back.

Horace did. He loved Cassandra more than words could express. She made him so happy, and he worked so hard to make her happy in return. He went to all of the dinners and dances. He was by her side constantly.

When she had first kissed him, Horace's whole world had lit up. He was floating on air for days afterward. And when she told him she loved him, it got even better. But there was something wrong.

Every time he kissed her, he heard a little voice in the back of his head. When he told her that he loved her, that errant thought pestered him relentlessly. Even now, as he contemplated the ring in his palm, the thought was there. The thought that he was only second best.

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39. Pulse

A pulse should be a good thing, right? It meant the heart was still beating, blood was still pumping through veins and arteries. It meant you were still alive.

But now that pulse was a double edged sword. Yes, it meant Halt was still alive, heart pumping and fighting to survive. But every pump of his heart was sending more poison through his system. Will watched as Halt lay quietly on his blankets, seemingly sleeping peacefully. He saw the slightest rise and fall of his mentor's chest. And then, he heard the first cry. As Halt began to flail madly in his bedding Will leapt to his feet and was by the older man's side in a moment.

What happened, Will thought, desperately trying to calm Halt, when it was your pulse that was killing you?

* * *

_Oh dear. Those were all rather unintentionally angsty. Sorry about that, you fluff lovers out there. So, thoughts, reactions, suggestions, constructive criticism? Review! :P_


	3. Chapter 3

_Look, I finally updated this thing! To any interested parties, I've updated all of my stories. I now completely dominate the first page. Consider this a Christmas present. So, here's the next group of five prompts. Hope you enjoy! :P_

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9. Sitting Still

Will couldn't take it any longer. He had been sitting, absolutely motionless except for breathing, for over two hours. The patch of ground he sat on, which had seemed so soft at first, had turned hard and uncomfortable. Will could feel a rock jabbing into his backside, and he bit his lip hard to try and keep his mind off of the pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he could switch his position, just to move that merciless rock. But no, he couldn't move. Clenching his fists, but otherwise remaining stock still, Will tried to focus on other things.

Another half hour went by. Will hadn't moved an inch in almost three hours. He kept tensing and untensing the muscles in his arms and legs, to keep them from falling asleep. If he had to get away in a hurry then he certainly didn't want his legs going numb. Oh, there was that darned rock again. When would this torture end?

Perhaps, Will thought, just perhaps, he could stand up for a moment. If he did it slowly, who would notice? And then he could move to a more comfortable position, one without that blasted rock digging into his backside. Having convinced himself, Will slowly, with the utmost care, began to move his legs. It was a painstaking business, concentrating on not making sound, and bending his knees in the smallest increments possible. Eventually he was in the correct position.

Slowly, very, very, slowly, Will began to stand. If he took just a few steps now, he could sit on a rather soft looking patch of grass. His cloak would hide him, he knew. Carefully, Will lifted one foot, studying the patterns of the shadows around him in order to blend in completely with his surroundings.

"Stop!" Will froze. "Just what do you think you're doing?" An indignant voice rose from the trees around him. He remained still. Suddenly, a bearded face with brows drawn together in anger was right in front of him. "Well?" Halt said. "Just what are you doing?"

"I was... uh-" Will lowered his eyes a bit. "I don't know. I'm sorry Halt."

"Sorry? You should be sorry. You should be a heck of a lot more than sorry. I don't know where you're trying to sneak off to, but you'd better sit right back down."

Will sat obediently, right back in his former position. "That's better," Halt said. "Now don't even think about moving until I say so, got it?"

"Yes," Will said miserably.

"Good." And with that Halt melted away into the shadows of the trees.

Will sighed silently. He'd never thought that sitting still would be this hard.

* * *

92. Strings

Oh, that cursed instrument. Halt clapped his hands over his ears as he heard the horrible screeching that Will called music. "Will!" he called out. The screeching stopped and the boy's head appeared in the hallway.

"Yes Halt?" Will said calmly as he entered the living room of the small cabin.

"Would you mind stopping that horrible noise? It sounds like you're torturing small animals in there."

Will looked offended. "I think I've improved quite a bit, thank you very much."

"I don't care. Now take that lute of yours-"

"It's not a lute," Will interrupted indignantly, "A lute has ten strings. This is a mandola, it has eight strings..."

Halt stopped listening. Ten strings or eight strings, at least now they were silent strings.

* * *

80. Late

Oh gods, he was late. He knew this, even as he helped the old farmer chase down several chickens that had escaped from a cart. The man was bringing the chickens to sell in the market at Wensley Village, near Castle Redmont. As Will had been heading down the path he'd seen the old man hopelessly attempting to gather up his escaped livestock. Even though he knew that he needed to get to the Ranger's cabin on time, his good nature wouldn't allow him to pass up the farmer.

As soon as the last chicken was placed safely inside the cart Will accepted the farmer's thanks and set off down the road. He ran hard, hoping to make up lost time. But no matter how quickly his feet pounded down the dirt road Will was fully conscious of the sun rising higher in the sky, and the fact that his feet could never outrun it. Nevertheless, he did not slow until he bounded up the steps of the verandah of the small cabin and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal the bearded figure of the Ranger.

"You're late," Halt said simply and slammed the door in Will's face. The boy stared in shock at the wooden boards for a moment, then knocked again.

Halt's face appeared in the doorway once more, brows drawn together in anger. "You're late," he said once again. "You were told to be here by six o' clock. Obviously, you can't follow orders, therefore, you'll not be staying here."

"But-" Will began, but once again, he was too late. The Ranger slammed the door once again. Will stood, too shocked to move, still facing the door. What on earth had just happened? He stayed that way, frozen, until he heard a window shutter creak open. The Ranger's voice floated out from within the cabin.

"Get off of my land boy, or I'll put an arrow in you."

The threat was enough to galvanize Will into action. He turned and walked back down the porch steps. Slowly, he began the long, long walk back to Castle Redmont.

* * *

37. Human

Trobar was terrified. The villagers were so angry with him, but he didn't know what he had done wrong. One man, a big man, one of the leaders of the village, stepped threateningly toward him. Trobar cowered back and tried to apologize, but the words couldn't get past his malformed throat and out into the air. The man's face was twisted into a horrible angry mask, and he lifted a hand to Trobar. Trobar felt white hot pain as the man's hand came down hard on his face. He felt tears start streaming from his eyes.

Then he heard the man scream as his dog leaped at him, snarling and biting. He saw the silver flash of a knife being unsheathed, heard the dog yelp in pain and saw it fall to the ground. He rushed forward, no longer caring about the threat of the villagers, and scooped up the prone black and white body. He cradled the dog in his arms, felt its feeble attempt to wag its tail. He felt himself being hit again, over and over, and he heard the villagers calling horrible names at him, some of which, being just eight years old, he didn't understand anyway.

When he looked at the villagers all he could see was anger. He felt fear, like a hard knot, twist in his gut. He held the dog closer and ran. He ran from these monsters that called themselves human.

* * *

68. Speak

Will looked curiously at the two figures walking through the Gathering Grounds. The taller of the two was dressed in a gray and green mottled cloak that marked him out as a Ranger. The other, smaller figure, wore nondescript everyday clothing. From this distance Will couldn't be certain, but the figure looked like a child, perhaps eleven or twelve years old. Certainly not old enough to be an apprentice. He turned to Halt, sitting comfortably beside him on the grass.

"Halt, who are they?"

Halt glanced up and saw the pair that had drawn Will's attention. "That's Derrick and his son."

"His son? I didn't think any of the Rangers had kids."

"Well, we're not all bachelors, you know. But you're right, most don't. And Derrick's son isn't his biological child."

"He's not?"

"No. He was... abandoned, I suppose."

"Abandoned? What do you mean?"

"Well, Peter isn't like most people. He's deaf. Has been since birth. His parents couldn't handle it."

Will watched the little boy with new found sympathy. "That's horrible!"

Halt shrugged. "That's the way life works. It all worked out for the best in the end."

Derick seemed to have noticed Halt and began walking toward the Ranger and his apprentice. Halt stood up to greet them, and Will did likewise.

"Hello Halt," Derrick called as he approached.

"Hullo Derrick, Peter." Halt shook the Ranger's hand and nodded toward the little boy. Halt gestured to Will. "This is my apprentice, Will."

"It's nice to meet you Will," Derrick said.

"It's nice to meet you too," Will said politely.

"And this is my son, Peter."

"Hi Peter."

Peter's hand rapidly moved through several different and very distinct positions. "Peter says it's a pleasure to meet you."

Will looked curiously between Peter and Derrick. "He said that with his hands?"

"Yes. You see, Peter's never been able to hear, so he never learned to talk either. He talks with his hands instead."

"Oh."

"Derrick," Halt said in the silence that followed, "Would you two like to join us for dinner? Will makes a mean rabbit."

"Sure Halt. That sounds wonderful."

Halt glanced at Will, "Well then, I guess we'd better get to it, eh?"

Will sighed. "Alright Halt."

The Ranger's apprentice set to work stoking up a fire to cook a meal for himself, two Rangers, and a boy who spoke with his hands.

* * *

_The last one was little bit weird, I thought. Anyway, Merry Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanza/Holiday of Your Choice. Peace on Earth, good will toward men, review (hint hint). :P_


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